A version of Bruce Lee that exists in popular culture is the one with unbelievable speed, the one who could perform push-ups with two fingers, and the one whose kicks were too quick for cameras. That version is fairly accurate. However, it is also lacking. Compared to the icon that people believe they are familiar with, the fuller picture is stranger, more human, and in some ways more fascinating.
The cha-cha should come first. Bruce Lee took home the Crown Colony Cha-Cha Championship in Hong Kong in 1958. By the time he competed, he had reportedly kept a card in his wallet that listed all 108 distinct cha-cha steps, memorizing them in the same way a scholar memorizes theorems. He had been dancing since he was fourteen. There was already the same compulsive focus that would later characterize his approach to martial arts, pointing to a completely different type of footwork. The grace that people observed in his fighting might have originated on the dance floor. It’s a logical idea rather than a romantic one.
His decision to pursue martial arts wasn’t totally voluntary. When Lee was a teenager in Hong Kong, he was involved in street fights, which alarmed his parents to the point where, at the age of 19, they sent him to the United States in the hopes that it would be a safer place for him to let off steam. Yes, it was. After moving to Seattle, he began teaching martial arts from his house and eventually started a school. He discovered discipline in a garage in the Pacific Northwest that the streets of Hong Kong were unable to provide.
The quiet significance of the 1964 Long Beach International Karate Championships is one interesting fact about Bruce Lee karate that often surprises people. Lee was demonstrating, not competing. After demonstrating his one-inch punch and two-finger push-ups to the audience, he left with an impression on industry insiders who would later provide him with opportunities. Even tho no one realized it at the time, the connection between martial arts and Hollywood began to take shape that afternoon in Long Beach.
It’s worth taking a moment to look at his roster of famous students. Norris, Chuck. James Coburn and Steve McQueen. Kareem Abdul-Jabbar and Sharon Tate. Some of the most well-known figures in entertainment and sports were paying Lee $275 per hour for private instruction, which was a significant sum of money in the late 1960s. In 1973, McQueen and Coburn became close enough to Lee to be pallbearers at his funeral. That detail has a subtle, moving quality.
It’s a good Green Hornet episode. Burt Ward’s Robin was supposed to defeat Lee’s Kato in a fight when the show’s producers wrote a crossover with Batman. After reading it, Lee just declined. He didn’t argue for very long. He simply said he wouldn’t do it and left the set. Eventually, the script was changed to result in a draw. Although it’s a brief moment, it conveys something genuine about his self-perception and how seriously he took the legitimacy of his on-screen persona.
It’s still unclear what Lee did with Jeet Kune Do. The idea that a fighter should adapt rather than adhere to a set set of movements is what he created, not a new rigid system but a purposeful rejection of rigid systems. He learned Wing Chun, boxing, fencing techniques from his brother, and anything else that seemed beneficial, then eliminated what didn’t work in practical settings. That wasn’t always accepted by the martial arts community of his time. He publicly criticized conventional training techniques at a 1965 kung fu panel in Hong Kong, which did not sit well with everyone. He appeared unconcerned.
He passed away in July 1973 at the age of thirty-two, prior to the release of Enter the Dragon. The official explanation is cerebral edema caused by an allergic reaction to a painkiller, but some biographers have suggested that heat-related complications may have been exacerbated by a procedure he underwent to remove sweat glands from his underarms. The timing was cruel, regardless of the precise reason. The man who made Enter the Dragon never saw the finished product, but it went on to become one of the most popular martial arts movies ever.
It’s difficult to ignore the fact that Bruce Lee’s significance stemmed more from his refusal to neatly fit into the categories that were available to him than from any one kick or movie role. He wasn’t just an actor, a martial artist, or a philosopher, and that refusal to be just one of those things is likely why people are still interested in him over fifty years after his passing.
